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POEMS 



POEMS 


By 


EUGENE BARRY 




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Boston 


L. C. Page & Company 


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LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

JUL I 1904 
V Copyright Entry 
J^Mr Z - / of D Mr 
CLASS 1 ou XXo. No. 

9 ° ±& *» 

' COF* B 






Copyright, IQ04 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 
^4// rights reserved 



Published June, 1904 



Colonial $r«K 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 
Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 









Ca Jlp fatjer 

O, thou, who first didst lead me by the hand, 

A little child, to roam the enchanted field 

Of Poesy ; the joy its treasures yield 
Taught me to feel, to love, to understand ; 
Then bade me lift mine eyes, where, towering grand, 

The monarch mounts of song their fronts revealed, 

Explore those heights, whose heaven no clouds concealed, 
And from their summits look o'er all the land, — 

/ thank thee for that guidance : and since now, 
After so many bare and fruitless years, 

The seed that then with loving hand was sown 
Has come to fruitage on belated bough — 

For what of worth amid these leaves appears, 
Take thou the credit, it is all thine own. 



CONTENTS 



The Plains of Laramie 








PAGE 

1 


A Colorado Camp-fire 








5 


By Kettle River 








ii 


Dominion 










15 


A Poem of the Plains 










19 


The Prairie Farmer 










24 


The Buried Farm 










29 


Moosehead Lake 










32 


The Trapper 










35 


Illusion 










• 39 


Dungeon Rock 










43 


Daniel Pratt 










46 


The Salvationists 










. 49 


Retrospection 










• 5i 


False Promise 










• 53 


The Whippoorwill 










• 55 


On a Violin Solo 










• 58 


The Clan - na - Gael 










• 59 


The Fireman 










• 63 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Chicago, a. d. 1903 . . . . .68 
The Old General at Muster . . .71 

Mating - time 75 

The Water-lily 78 

The Bayberry Leaf 81 

The Face Above the Rose ... 84 
The Land of My Dreams ... 86 

The Fisherman's Daughter ... 89 
The Origin of the Variegated Rose . 95 

Carmencita 98 

A Classic Idyl 100 

Memories 103 

Nature's Law 107 

I Met a Friend no 

To My Wife • 113 

Album Verses 115 

To My Children 117 

In the Nursery 120 

On the Birth of Twins . . . .122 

Two Pictures 124 

To M. A. B 125 

To My Father's Memory . . . .127 
A Tribute to the Memory of Master 

King 130 

At the Palmer House, Chicago . .134 
The Parade . . . . . . . 139 

viii 



CONTENTS 



On the Seventy - fifth Anniversary of 

the Lynn Light Infantry . . .143 

Love's Maelstrom . 149 

Ode on the Dedication of the Lynn 

High - schoolhouse . . . . 151 

My Ship 159 



POEMS 



THE PLAINS OF LARAMIE. 

The day is bright, the sky is fair, 
And clear the crystal mountain air, 
The upland grasses, low and sweet, 
Tread soft beneath our horses' feet; 
With loosened rein we gallop free 
Across the Plains of Laramie. 

Mile after mile, before our eyes, 

The level plain extended lies 

To where the mountains, brown and bare, 

Lift their unconquered heads in air, 

Like mighty kings that regally 

Rule the broad Plains of Laramie. 



THE PLAINS OF LARAMIE 

But see! across the sunlit grass 
Yon cloud's dark shadow slowly pass. 
In it a thousand shadows creep, 
A living cloud of countless sheep! 
With one lone herder, silently 
Pacing the Plains of Laramie. 

As we draw near, the shepherd seems 
Awakened from a world of dreams; 
With dull, sad speech, and listless eyes, 
Half to himself, he slow replies 
As to his life, and how came he 
To herd the sheep on Laramie. 

" Day after day, my watch I keep, 
Slow-wandering with these silent sheep 
In one dull round, day after day ; 
No human voice to cheer my way, 
Or break the drear monotony 
Of these dull Plains of Laramie." 



THE PLAINS OF LARAMIE 

Oft, in my lonely hut at night, 
Sleepless, I wait the morning's light; 
E'en my poor dog will understand, 
And in the darkness lick my hand, — 
The only thing that cares for me 
On these sad Plains of Laramie." 

And there are days so still and lone 
The very air seems fainter grown, 
Far, and more dim, the horizon's bound, 
The mountains float like shadows round; 
A wandering ghost I seem to be, 
Haunting these Plains of Laramie." 

At times, strange voices fill the air, 
And then I ask myself, if there 
Are spirits hovering round my way? 
Or if? — or if? — for men, they say, 
Go mad, and die in misery, 
Lost on these Plains of Laramie." 
3 



THE PLAINS OF LARAMIE 

We left him to his lonely way ; 
But when we came another day, 
The sheep were wandering far and wide, 
Our call no answering voice replied; 
Naught of the herdsman could we see 
O'er all the Plains of Laramie. 



A COLORADO CAMP-FIRE. 

Twilight steals over the plain, as the mountain's 

lengthening shadow- 
Creeps o'er the golden grass and the hills that 

still glow to the eastward, 
Changing their purple to gray, while cloud- 
woven curtains of crimson 
Trail their resplendent folds o'er the radiant por- 
tals of sunset. 
Silence, from starry realms of infinite space 

descending, 
Folds all the earth to rest in the shade of her 
slumberous pinions. 



A COLORADO CAMP-FIRE 

Now, from the willowy bank of the streamlet 

that flows through the valley, 
Sudden a light flashes up, a life-throb, from out 

the void darkness. 
Thistle-shaped sabres of flame beat back the 

beleaguering shadows, 
Volleys of swift-flying sparks shoot upward their 

fiery arrows, 
While, to and fro in the light, a herdsman 

wearily passes, 
Preparing his lonely repast, and arranging his 

shelterless bivouac. 

Picketed near him, his steed, as he feeds on the 
dry, withered herbage, 

Casts o'er the dim-lighted plain, weird shadows, 
distorted, gigantic; 

While, with his blanket outspread, and with high- 
posted saddle for pillow, 



A COLORADO CAMP-FIRE 

The rider reclines by the fire, and watches the 

red-glowing embers. 
Shimmering fitful and faint, like the shifting 

mirage of the desert, 
Visions and scenes of the past in the bright coals 

are dreamily pictured. 

The home of his boyhood he sees, and the family 
group by the fireside, 

Looks on his father's kind face, and the love-beam- 
ing eyes of his mother, 

Brothers and sisters so dear as they played round 
the hearthstone together. 

Eyes that are lovelier yet, now beam on his, out 
of the embers, 

Dancing and gleaming with mirth, teasing, 
capricious, yet tender, 

Now flashing in swift repulse, now downcast with 
love's sweet consenting. 



A COLORADO CAMP-FIRE 

Sudden the embers grow black, but soon, flaring 

up in the night-wind, 
Glow, and then smoulder with hate, like the 

scornful eyes of his rival. 
Now a swift flash, as of steel, and the embers are 

flooded with crimson. 
Doors open wide on the night, and a form rushes 

forth into darkness — 
Shuddering, he turns from the sight of a pitiful 

face, white with anguish, 
Eyes that are sad with reproach, and lips, pale 

and trembling at parting. 

Headlights of swift trains he sees, that glare like 

the eye of the Cyclops, 
Searching the glistening rails, encompassed by 

walls of black midnight, 
Towers that shine out to sea, and the red and 

green lights of the shipping, 



8 



A COLORADO CAMP-FIRE 

The vessel's pale, phosphorent wake, as with 
myriad eyes still pursuing, 

Cities, with strange, homesick streets, and win- 
dows of love-lighted firesides, 

Such as will ne'er shine for him, an outcast, who 
skulks in the darkness. 

Now, on the far western plains, with the wagons 
and herds of the round-up, 

Sleepless he lies by the fire, 'mid the slumbering 
forms of the herdsmen; 

Now, 'neath the fierce glare of noon, over deso- 
late sand-wastes he journeys, 

Fevered and fainting with thirst, and lost in the 
limitless desert; 

Or follows the famishing herd, as, at midnight, 
they aimlessly wander 

Over the pitiless snows that gleam pale and blue 
in the starlight. 



A COLORADO CAMP-FIRE 

Restless, he starts from his bed, and gazes above 
and around him, 

On the dim sky-line of gray, o'er the black silhou- 
ette of the mountain, 

Sees, round the slow-dying fire, advancing, then 
swiftly retreating, 

Flickering shadows that dance, like spirits of 
evil triumphant, 

Till, as with smouldering crash, the last crum- 
bling brand falls in ashes, 

Over all sweeps the black night — and the pic- 
ture is lost to my vision. 



10 



BY KETTLE RIVER. 

In Minnesota's pine-lands drear, 

I wandered far that day, 
Through the forest dim, in search of the deer. 
By silent stream and lonely mere, 

In the land of the Chippeway. 

At length I came to an open glade 
Where an Indian wigwam stood; 
The smoke its smouldering camp-fire made, 
Rose faint and thin, like a phantom shade, 
To fade in the darksome wood. 

I paused, by some vague sense impelled 

Their savage life to scan; 
How strange the scene that I beheld ! 
ii 



BY KETTLE RIVER 

A chapter from the Book of Eld, 
Ere yet the race was Man. 

The dingy tent of smoke-tanned hide 

Was hung with trappings rude, 
And robes of skins, from game the wide, 
Uncertain forest that supplied 
T3ieir scanty store of food. 

Stretched on a gaunt wolf's shaggy fell, 

A painted savage lay, 
Whose cruel face a tale could tell 
Of passions fierce, and deeds that well 

Might shun the light of day. 

His squaw, with unkempt, matted hair, 

Ne'er from my face would take 
Her glittering, beadlike eyes, as where 
Amid the thicket coiled, doth glare 
The dreaded rattlesnake. 
12 



BY KETTLE RIVER 



Squalid and vile, from each dull face 

No ray of feeling shone: 
Can beings bred in such a place, 
Of such a low and barbarous race, 

Be kindred to our own? 

Turning to cross the rising ground, 

'Mid tangled grasses wild, 
By the dark forest circled round, 
In silent solitude, I found 

The grave of a little child. 

Above it, built with loving care, 

A tiny house did stand, 
The child's poor playthings all were there, 
And shoes for her little feet to wear 

On her way to the Spirit Land. 

My heart was touched, the pride of race 
Vanished beside that lowly dust: 
13 



BY KETTLE RIVER 



No world-famed artist e'er could trace 
In sculptured marble's perfect grace 
A sweeter hope and trust. 

And when for man despondent grown 

Lest evil win the day, 
Take heart, and trust the promise shown 
By the little grave on the hillside lone, 

In the land of the Chippeway. 



14 



DOMINION. 

"And the fear of you and the dread of you shall be 
upon every beast of the earth." Gen. ix. 2. 

Alone I stood upon the prairie wide, 

No home of man my farthest sight could trace, 
Yet all around me rose on every side, 
Mound after mound, by thousands multiplied, 
The habitations of another race. 

A prairie-dog town! never city more 

Of bustling life could show, or restless change ; 
Each busy inmate ran from door to door, 
Or curious, stood erect and eyed me o'er, 
Amazed at sight of such a being strange. 



15 



DOMINION 



A counterpart it seemed of human life, 

Save that all dwelt in harmony and peace, 
Free from the thousand ills, the bitter strife 
That darken all our days with sorrow rife 
And weary toil and cares that never cease. 

Here, where the pure Elysian breezes blow 
Straight from the gates of heaven, oh, might 
we 
Dwell on these verdant plains, beneath the glow 
Of westering suns, declining large and low, 
And all forget the life that used to be ! 

As musing thus, unconsciously mine ear 

Distinguished what their chattering speech ex- 
pressed, 
And soon was able to interpret clear 
The language of a gray old patriarch near, 
Who thus the younger of his tribe addressed. 



16 



DOMINION 



" This creature strange is Man, who claims the 
right 
All other beings to destroy or own, 
Because, forsooth, he once a book did write 
Which says that God in him took sole de- 
light 
And other creatures made for him alone." 

" So some he doth devour and some enslave, 

And others rob of all that they possess. 
Us he molests not, since he doth not crave 
Aught that we have, unless, in safety brave, 
He murder us in merest wantonness." 

" The light of reason he with none will share, 
He claims that soul is but to him conveyed ; 

And, in bold blasphemy, doth even dare, 

With vanity colossal, to declare 

That God is in his forked image made ! " 



17 



DOMINION 



At this loud laughter did mine ears assail, 

And then the warning voice I heard again, 
"Avoid him, he is evil." At this hail 
Each in derision shook his stumpy tail, 

And left me, wondering, on the darkening 
plain. 



18 



A POEM OF THE PLAINS. 

On wild Montana's wastes there shone 

Naught but the stars' pale light, 
Save where, from cabin window lone, 
A dull, red ray was faintly thrown 
Athwart the gloom of night. 

A frontier barroom, where, within, 

A herder of the plain 
Had staked his all, to lose or win, 
At that fell game the Prince of Sin 

Devised, men's souls to gain. 

Beside the cabin, tethered fast, 
His faithful horse was tied; 
With trembling limbs and head downcast, 
19 



A POEM OF THE PLAINS 

He cringed before the icy blast 
That swept the prairie wide. 

The marks of many an owner's brand, 

Inscribed in letters wide, 
Scars from the cruel Spaniard's hand, 
And road-marks of the Texan land, 

Were burnt upon his side. 

Dreary the night; no sounds reply 

To his faint, impatient neigh, 
Save the coyotes' complaining cry, 
And wintry winds, that seemed to sigh 
For joys now passed away. 

He dreams of the Mexic land again, 

Fair uplands bathed in sun, 
Of the gallop free across the plain, 
Untouched by spur, unchecked by rein, 

Ere youth's bright days were done. 

20 



A POEM OF THE PLAINS 

He sees, on the Texan drive, the band 

Of cattle, drifting slow; 
Their tossing horns o'ershade the land, 
Their worn hoofs furrow the shifting sand, 

As on to the north they go, 

O'er alkali deserts, where parched winds blow, 

And the fainting streams expire, 
Where the poison-weed and the cactus grow, 
And far-off mountains, crowned with snow, 

Gleam red in the sunset's fire. 

Again he sees the living tide 

Pour over the northern range; 
Primeval pastures, above whose wide 
Uncharted seas the cloud-ships ride, 

'Mid silence wondrous strange. 

On the hilltop far his eyes descry 
A troop of wild horse, free, 

21 



A POEM OF THE PLAINS 

And stallion leader, with head on high, 
His broad mane flung against the sky, 
Their flag of liberty. 

Their life he envies, but his own 

His blood to madness stirs, 
The weary round-up, the night-herd lone, 
The spade-bit's torture, often known, 

The lash and the cruel spurs. 

Sudden the barroom door swings wide, 

And forth his owner reels. 
Cursing his losses, he leaps astride, 
And thrusts his spurs in his horse's side, 

Who, quick as the blow he feels, 

Maddened by pain and years of wrong, 

With one convulsive bound, 
Snaps short the banded cinch-girt strong, 



22 



A POEM OF THE PLAINS 

And the hated rider, endured so long, 
He headlong hurls to the ground. 

With one shrill neigh of wild delight, 

He is off, away and away, 
To the wild horse band he speeds his flight, 
As they wait for him on the hilltop bright 

With the light of a new-born day. 



23 



THE PRAIRIE FARMER. 

I've lived here now for thirty years, and, 

Stranger, I'll be bound 
There's not a better farm in all this Western 

country round; 
But now that spring has come again, like fever 

in the blood, 
A restless feeling o'er me steals that's hard to be 

withstood, 
I cannot work, I cannot sleep, but far away would 

roam 
To where the orchards are in bloom round my 

New England home. 

I've prospered well: these level fields, as far as 
you can see, 

24 



THE PRAIRIE FARMER 

They all are bought and paid for, and they all 

belong to me. 
I never could have done so well at home, you may 

be sure; 
I smile sometimes to think upon those farms so 

thin and poor. 
But as I sit behind my team and plough the deep 

black loam, 
I see the apple-trees in bloom round my New 

England home. 

Straight east I draw my furrows wide to meet the 

rising sun, 
Then turn and drive straight westward, and so 

till day is done; 
And then in autumn's glorious time, when days 

are calm and bright, 
Miles upon miles of ripening grain wave in the 

golden light. 



25 



THE PRAIRIE FARMER 

But when at night I seek my bed, in visions 

sweet I roam 
New England's bare and rugged hills around my 

childhood's home. 

My boys are grown to stalwart men, my girls 

are fair to see, 
They're proud of this free Western land, and 

wonder much at me ; 
But they have never stood upon the mountain's 

summit grand, 
Nor watched old ocean's crested waves break 

foaming on the strand, 
Nor ever known the sweet delight in forest wilds 

to roam, 
Nor seen the apple-trees in bloom round my New 

England home. 

The swallow seeks the grove where first it saw 
the sun's bright gleam, 
26 



THE PRAIRIE FARMER 

The salmon leaps the torrent's fall to reach its 
native stream, 

A thousand leagues the wild goose flies on tire- 
less wing o'erhead, 

Straight as an arrow to the bleak, bare North 
where it was bred. 

So in the spring my faithful heart, holding all 
else in scorn, 

Turns back to old New England, and the home 
where I was born. 

Though here I've cast my lot for life, and here 
I must remain, 

Till death shall plough me underneath like stub- 
ble on the plain, 

Make not my grave in this strange land, but place 
me, if you will, 

Within my fathers' burial-lot upon the wind- 
swept hill, 



27 



THE PRAIRIE FARMER 

Where I may watch the mountains glow and 

ocean break in foam, 
And see in spring the orchard bloom round my 

New England home. 



28 



THE BURIED FARM. 

Long years ago, in vagrant boyhood days, 
In light boat drifting with the idle breeze, 
I sailed around old Essex's pleasant bays, 
Rocked by their waves as on a mother's knees. 
Fair were those shores, but I remember most 
A little farm beside the sea-beat coast. 

A green oasis on the barren shore, 

By sand-hills sheltered from the salt sea spray, 

The dancing waves its bright reflection bore, 

A lane of verdure, mirrored o'er the bay. 

Across the tide I see it gleaming yet, 

An emerald gem in sands of silver set. 



29 



THE BURIED FARM 



A thrifty orchard by the waters grew, 

That blushed in beauty like a fair young bride 

With pale pink blossoms decked, that faintly 

threw 
Their dainty fragrance o'er the swelling tide. 
A low-roofed house hid 'neath the sand-hill's crest, 
Like some lone sea-bird brooding on its nest. 

Now all is changed, and nothing greets my sight 
But sand-dunes gray, with scanty grass o'erspread, 
Or barren wastes with sea-salt leprous white, 
And gray-winged clouds slow sailing overhead. 
No sound is heard save ocean's sullen roar, 
And sea-bird's cry along the lonely shore. 

Whelmed are the verdant fields beneath the 

swell 
Of billowy sands that topped the orchard's pride, 
And of the dwelling naught remains to tell 
How on the abandoned hearth the firelight died, 
30 



THE BURIED FARM 



And yielded up its last, faint, flickering breath, 
As o'er the threshold crept the drifting death. 

Now, wandering o'er the wind-blown wastes of 

sand, 
By idle curiosity impelled, 

One branch I see, like drowning swimmer's hand 
From out the depths imploringly upheld, 
Yet hopeful still, with budding blossoms fair, 
Brave to the last, unconscious of despair, 

Alas, how like to our poor human lives 
The orchard's fate! How little of the fair, 
Bright promise of our youthful days survives, 
Choked by the drifting sands of worldly care ; 
Yet oft some budding branch in age remains 
To show what might have been, and shame our 
sordid gains. 



3i 



MOOSEHEAD LAKE. 

Queen of the northern waters ! yet once more 
I rest upon thy bosom, and mine eyes 

Gaze on thy wooded isles and sunlit shore, 
Fair as when first I felt their sweet surprise. 

'Tis years since last I saw thee, and of all 
My youthful world how little doth remain ! 

Dear ones are gone, friends lost, youth past recall, 
Yet thou unchanging beauty dost retain. 

Thy old-time witchery steals o'er my heart, 

And with its spell bright youth returns again, 
Thy winds of healing bid dull grief depart, 
Thy waves' low crooning soothes my wearied 
brain. 

32 



MOOSEHEAD LAKE 



Not thine, old Ocean's hoarse and sullen roar, 
Where by worn cliff and sandy level free, 

Foam-crested billows charge upon the shore 
In all the pomp of plumed chivalry. 

But with a quiet welcome, all thine own, 
Thou greetest me in tones the heart to reach, 

Lisped by thy wavelets' tender monotone, 
In rhythmic cadence on the shingly beach. 

Not to the hurrying throng who seek her shrine 
Doth Nature ope her sanctuary door; 

Though much they deign to praise in accents fine, 
And, condescending, view her beauties o'er. 

She knows them not, but o'er the feeble train 
Whirls her fierce blasts, and from her frowning 
skies 
Pours on their cowering heads the blinding rain, 
Scorning their feeble love and prying eyes. 
33 



MOOSEHEAD LAKE 



But unto those who seek in humble mood, 
And watch and woo her with a lover's eye, 

With patient vigil long, through ill and good, 
She grants her favours all unceasingly. 

O'er them she spreads her canopy of leaves, 
With glimpses of the azure heaven between, 

On the far hills a cloud-traced pattern weaves, 
Of verdant damask cut with darker green. 

And, as the lingering sunset fainter gleams, 
Soft, woodland voices call them to their rest, 

Mingling her waves' low music with their 
dreams, 
She folds them close to her maternal breast. 

Here might I ever rest in sweet content, 

No more to roam the world's rough pathway 
o'er, 
And when life's last, faint, twilight beam is spent, 
Find peaceful rest beside this tranquil shore. 
34 



THE TRAPPER. 

All day adown Penobscot's rushing tide 
Our light canoe o'er foaming rapids sped, 

Or tossed on eddying depths of gloom, beside 
The o'erarching forest, endless, pathless, dread. 

Northward, scarred deep by many a landslide's 
fall, 

Rose huge Katahdin's mighty mountain wall. 

As the soft calm that ushered in the night 
Fell on the wearied waters, forth we came 

Upon a lovely lake, reflecting bright 

The sunset skies with Tyrian dyes aflame. 

Girdling the waters with resplendent zone, 

Crimson and gold the autumnal forest shone. 
35 



THE TRAPPER 



We sought a little inlet of the lake, 

Whose cool, dark surface lay in tranquil rest, 
Save where the muskrat trailed his dusky wake, 

Or plash of wild duck stirred its glassy breast ; 
And as the dim, uncertain shore we neared, 
From out the wood a lonely man appeared. 

Few were his words of greeting, as he led 
Amid the forest aisles, our silent way 

To his low hut, by gloomy pines o'erspread, 
Where scarce could pierce the twilight's fading 
ray. 

Within, a smouldering camp-fire, 'mid the gloom, 

With flickering blaze lit up the dingy room. 

Here lay his couch, of verdant spruce-boughs 
made; 
On rafters stored, or in each log's rough chink 
A hunter's traps and scanty stores were laid, 
With half-dried skins of black-cat and of mink. 
36 



THE TRAPPER 



And here he dwelt, self-banished from his race, 
Nor sought the welcome of a human face. 

Yet kindly was his heart to all the shy, 
Wild dwellers of the forest solitude ; 
The squirrel crossed his threshold, and, near 

by, 
TJie partridge, fearless, reared her timorous 

brood. 
All were his friends, save his own kind alone, 
Since she he loved had scorned that love to own. 

In his frail birch upon the lonely lake 

Through the long summer idly would he rove, 

Or 'mid the trackless wilds his pathway make 
O'er rugged mount, dark swamp, and tangled 
grove, 

Where the fierce hurricane's resistless track 

Had piled the giants of the wood awrack. 



37 



THE TRAPPER 



Amid the snows of winter, lonelier yet, 
By the faint scars upon the tree-trunks led, 

He sought the coverts where his traps were set 
By frozen bog and streamlet's icy bed, 

Or watched through dreary midnight's bitter cold 

The Boreal fires their ghostly dances hold. 

In the deep wood, and by the lonely shore, 
What sighs were wafted on the silent air, 

How oft the night-winds, pausing at his door, 
Heard the low mutterings of his despair, 

The pines, his dark confessors, ne'er will tell, 

His well-loved forest keeps his secret well. 

" Poor simpleton," methinks I hear you say, 
Dear lady reader, as this tale I tell, 

" For one weak girl to throw his life away 
When many another would have done as well." 

Perhaps, but ere to judge him we aspire, 

What thinks your husband, silent by the fire? 
38 



ILLUSION. 

'Twas in the town of Marblehead 

I roamed one day in pleasant weather, - 

From fort to beach of Riverhead, 

Where sea and bay come close together. 

Along each narrow, winding street 
The quaint old houses thickly cluster, 

Some in, some out, like untrained feet 
Of raw recruits in old-time muster. 

For every man built as he would, 
Each his own law and legislature; 

It made my very heart feel good, 

They showed so much of human nature. 
39 



ILLUSION 



Old gambrel roofs, all weather stains, 
Doors where brass knockers still persisted, 

And windows set with narrow panes 
Of ancient glass, all warped and twisted. 

An old friend I inquired for, 

One who had faced, 'mid storms terrific, 
The wintry gales off Labrador, 

And sailed in peace the broad Pacific. 

Rough-visaged, stern in word and deed, 
In action bold, in danger steady, 

Yet, were a human soul in need, 

His purse, his life, would aye be ready. 

With greeting warm as one of kin, 

And cordial smile, he came to meet 
me, 
With hearty welcome led me in, 

And at the window-side did seat me. 
40 



ILLUSION 



" How fine a view you have," I said. 
The harbour now, in sunset glowing, 
Shone like a rock-cut chalice, red 

With waves of crimson wine o'erflowing. 

The fort, a tawny lion, lay 

Crouched on the headland, grim, defy- 
ing, 
And white sails gleamed adown the bay, 

Like doves at sunset homeward flying. 

The lighthouse crowned the outer ledge 
O'er which the ocean waves were rolling, 

Along the tranquil harbour's edge 
Some visitors were idly strolling. 

' 'Tis a fine port," my host replied, 
" And safe and snug, with splendid mooring, 
But these fine folks I can't abide, 
They put on airs past all enduring.'* 
4i 



ILLUSION 



" Here comes one now ; see how he twists 
His face about in scornful sneering, 
And first to port, then starboard, lists, — 
An empty craft is always veering." 

Surprised, I recognized the face 

Of one of Boston's noted preachers, 

Yet, as he walked, a strange grimace 
At every step came o'er his features. 

In haste the sash I lifted high, 

When gone were all those looks amazing: 

'Twas not his face that was awry, 

But the old glass, where we were gazing. 

As homeward turned, I pondered long 
And thought that oft, if we but knew it, 

'Tis not the thing we see that's wrong, 

But the mind's glass through which we view 
it. 

42 



DUNGEON ROCK. 

Back from the sea, in Lynn's wild forest land, 
Fringed with dark pines, a towering rock doth 

stand ; 
Its bald crown cleft, as though the scimetar 
Of the red lightning had descended there, 
And, whelmed beneath, 'tis said there lies a cave 
That holds a pirate's treasure and his grave. 

On the bare upland, lone and desolate, 
Behold the grave of one who strove, 'gainst fate, 
From out the unrelenting rock to wrest 
The buried treasure. Now, above his breast 
The snows of winter drift, and, sorrowing vain, 
O'er him doth weep the unregarded rain. 
43 



DUNGEON ROCK 



A simple, trustful soul, who counsel sought 
From the departed; by their guidance wrought, 
Peopling with spirits the dim woods and caves, 
The willing dupe of crafty, scheming knaves, 
Those false ghost-brokers, who with wicked art, 
Trade on the tenderest feelings of the heart. 

Descend with me adown yon cavern deep, 
Hewn in the living rock, a pathway steep 
With tortuous windings. From the jagged wall 
Of the rent rock, chill drops of anguish fall. 
Down gloomy depths profound we grope our 

way, 
Lost to the world and the sweet light of day. 

And here for years he toiled, of summer's heat 
And winter's cold unconscious, while the beat 
Of his lone hammer throbbed with muffled sound, 
As though the rock a living heart had found. 



44 



DUNGEON ROCK 



Then faint and fainter grew till all was still, 
And silence brooded on the lonely hill. 

Smile not at his delusion; may not we, 

In our beliefs, be credulous as he? 

Who shapes our creeds ? In what dream-haunted 

brain 
Were wrought the phrases that our hopes sustain ? 
May not the future man, with sight more clear, 
Smile at the childish faith we hold so dear? 

Then, rather let us seek to emulate 

His sterling virtues, buoyant hope elate, 

And steadfast faith that no defeat could chill. 

May we, with like indomitable will, 

The deep recesses of the soul explore, 

And treasure bring to light unknown before. 



45 



DANIEL PRATT. 

The lives of those whom we have known for years 
Become a part of ours for good or ill, 

And when in death the humblest disappears, 
Something is lost the new can never fill. 

Such was the feeling, when, by chance, I read 

In sentence brief, " Poor Daniel Pratt is dead." 

A sudden moisture dimmed my pitying eyes, 
Tribute denied to many a greater name, 
Yet given to him, old, feeble, and unwise, 

Wandering from town to town, with witless 
aim, 
The rabble's jest, forlorn and needy, save 
The few small coins the gentle-hearted gave. 
46 



DANIEL PRATT 



Again I see him, with sad, earnest face, 

Like some old Roman, worn by wars and years, 

The crowd haranguing in the market-place 
That echoes with their loud, derisive cheers. 

For vulgar souls ignoble pleasure find 

In the abasement of a greater mind. 

Tireless, he pours a flood of eloquence 

With sounding phrases and impressive tone, 

But empty, vain, and all devoid of sense. 

Yet famous authors this sad world has known, 

Whose pages show no clearer light within. 

Alas, poor Daniel, thou hast many kin! 

For much of what we wisdom call is naught 
But speculation, profitless and vain, 

And great philosophers bewilder thought 
With explanations that do not explain. 

Genius is oft one gift, so overgrown 

That all the mental balance is o'erthrown. 
47 



DANIEL PRATT 



And many a proud religion has been built 
On the wild ravings of a fevered brain, 

The blood of countless thousands has been spilt 
The dreams of some fanatic to attain; 

What we declare the eternal truth to-day, 

Another generation casts away. 

And, to a being of supernal powers, 

Our loftiest thoughts must childishness appear. 
What strange delusions rule these lives of ours! 

What foolish fancies ! Haply, could we hear 
Ourselves as we heard Daniel, there might be 
More of resemblance than we care to see. 



48 



THE SALVATIONIST. 

He stands amid the city's curious throng, 

Exhorting volubly with fervid heat, 

And leads his followers in strident song 

'Mid cymbal's clash and drum's discordant beat. 

The passing traveller upon the street 

He calls to prayer, and warns him to disown 

The sins that hellward lead his thoughtless feet, 

With phrases set and sacerdotal tone 

In travesty most sad upon religion's own. 

Yet, for all this, a true successor he 
Of Hebrew bards inspired and prophets all ; 
The same in kind though lesser in degree 
Than they whom pious duty urged to call 
Lost Israel to repentance, and extol 
49 



THE SALVATIONIST 



The glory and the majesty of God. 
The thought that holds this earnest soul in thrall 
Is one with theirs who danger's pathway trod 
Through barbarous lands to spread their Saviour's 
name abroad. 

For this he seeks the homes devoid of light 
Where poverty abides amid temptations vile. 
Where reels the drunkard and crime prowls by 

night, 
And she, the nameless, lures with haggard smile. 
From out the toils of sin he would beguile 
The feet that wandered and the souls that fell, 
Consoling all with trusting hope the while, 
A noble duty, as his deeds will tell. 
We who in judgment sit, do we do ours as well? 



5o 



RETROSPECTION. 

On the hillside an orchard standeth, 
Fenced in by walls of stone, 
With golden fruit downladen 
The burdened branches groan. 

Swept by the dust of the roadside, 
Gnarled and scarred and gray, 
Its knotted arms outstraining 
To the meadows, far away, 

Where, by the winding river, 
The stately elm-trees stand, 
Fair as the cup of the lily 
Held in a maiden's hand. 



5i 



RETROS PECTIO N 



To their branches, idly swaying, 
No burden of fruit doth cling, 
But 'mid the dancing leaflets 
Flashes the oriole's wing. 

And the toil-wearied hearts on the hillside 
Ever long for the joys of the plain, — 
Which now would we choose, O my brother, 
Could we live our lives over again? 



52 



FALSE PROMISE. 

" Paint thou the infant Christ," the abbot said, 
And to the youthful artist forth they brought 

A lovely child, angels a fairer head 

'Mid heavenly cherubim had vainly sought. 

Ere long, immortal, on the canvas bright 

Shone that sweet face of innocent delight. 

From his pure brow celestial radiance beamed, 

Beneath his eyes the sinful heart grew dumb; 
Such loving, tender eyes, that ever seemed 

Wondering, yet prescient of the grief to come ; 
Within whose thoughtful depths one yet might 

trace 
The promise of the healing of the race. 
53 



FALSE PROMISE 



Long years had passed ; the artist, famous grown, 
With deeper knowledge, had expressed the wish 

To paint that last, sad supper, where is shown 
The fell betrayer's fingers in the dish. 

As one the Judas fit to represent, 

A murderer, chained, was from the galleys sent. 

Sullen he stood, while from his furtive eye 
Gleamed all the evil passions of the soul; 

Shuddering, the painter wrought ; regretfully, 
Thoughts of that earlier labour o'er him stole, 

When, as the sin-seamed features he would trace, 

Aghast, he saw it was the selfsame face! 

A child to you is born ; before life's mystery 
Pause and be dumb! Ye know not what may 
be. 



54 



THE WHIPPOORWILL. 

The moon in heaven is shining 

With soft and misty light, 
While sleeps the earth, reclining 

Upon the breast of night. 
In golden splendours glisten 

Valley and stream and hill, 
As lone I sit and listen 

To the song of the whippoorwill. 
" Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will, 

O'er slumbering hill and plain. 

" Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will,' 

Resounds the sad refrain. 

Deep shadows veil the thicket; 
The cedars, tall and still, 

55 



THE WHIPPOORWILL 



Like sentries grimly picket 

The sky-line o'er the hill; 
The fireflies flash o'er the meadow 

Where spectres of white mist float — 
From out the pine's dark shadow 
Flutters the plaintive note, 

" Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will," 
Like the cry of a soul in pain, 

" Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will," 
Resounds the sad refrain. 

The moon sinks low in heaven, 

The song new meaning takes, 
To errors unforgiven, 

Life's failures and mistakes, 
Youth's high resolves, forsaken, 

Proud hopes, forgotten long, 
Stern conscience doth awaken 

And makes her own the song, 



5t 



THE WHIPPOORWILL 



" Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will, 
For all life gave to thee, 

Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will, 
What hast thou brought to me?" 



57 



ON A VIOLIN SOLO. 

He touched the chords : far off and lone 

In forest glades, a wild bird warbles sweet, 
Anon a brooklet's rippling murmurs greet 

The listening ear in plaintive monotone. 

Faintly, on memory's fitful breezes blown, 
Forgotten songs of childhood float to meet 
The dreaming sense, again our pulses beat 

At sound of that loved voice the heart hath 
known. 

Now eager manhood's conquering march we tread 
And hear the bugles calling to the strife, 

The wail of anguish o'er the fallen dead, 
And the calm movement of our later life, 
Till his enchanter's wand, with magic rife, 

Our disembodied souls to heaven has led. 
58 



THE CLAN-NA-GAEL. 

The supper he scarcely tasted, 

And when it was cleared away, 

Thoughtful he sat by the fireside, 
With never a word to say, 

And his lighted pipe, neglected, 
Died out into ashes gray. 

Then Norah, his wife, was troubled, 

For women are quick to see 
When aught goes wrong with the loved one, 

And she said, " Now, Denny, macree, 
You'll not go out the night, dear, 

But stay with the baby and me." 
59 



THE CLAN-NA-GAEL 



'* I must do my duty, Mavourneen, 
By my oath I dare not fail," 

But she clung to his bosom in terror, 
And her cheek grew ghastly pale 

As she caught the sight of a letter 

. . With the seal of the Clan-na-gael. 

" O, darling, I fear me 'tis murder- 
You are risking your life to obey, 

And think you to stand up in heaven 
At the terrible Judgment Day, 

When even the Mother of Jesus 
Would turn from your sin away ? " 

" Fear not, I am right, Acushla, 
'Tis the judgment of the Clan, 

And before that I ever was christened 
I was born an Irishman, 

And I'll die for dear old Ireland 
To free her if I can." 
60 



THE CLAN-NA-GAEL 



Then she said, " Think not I've forgotten 
The land from whence we have sprung, 

Her love is as firm in my bosom 

As her accents that dwell on my tongue, 

But this is our home and our country, 
The noblest all nations among. 

" It has given us refuge and shelter 

When the old land could not spare us bread, 

It has taken the stoop from our shoulders, 
It has lifted the down-trodden head 

And no one need here stand uncovered 
Nor cringe to another in dread." 

Then she took the babe up from the cradle 

And set it upon his knee ; 
" Although we are Irish for ever, 

American born is he, 
And this is the land he will cherish 

When he is a man," said she. 
61 



THE CLAN-NA-GAEL 



" So stand by your home, my darling, 
Let your better heart prevail." 

He gazed from one to the other, 
Kissed the cheek of his wife so pale, 

And lighted his pipe with the letter 
That was signed by the Clan-na-Gael. 



62 



THE FIREMAN. 

'Twas in the great revival year; 

To church all flocked from far and near, 

The tides of faith ran high ; 
Waiting the burning of the globe, 
The Millerites, in ascension robe, 

From barns essayed to fly. 

Within the crowded church that day, 
Before the anxious-seat to pray, 

Knelt many a penitent. 
The preacher called with fervid zeal 
On all to heed his last appeal 

And of their sins repent. 

6 3 



THE FIREMAN 



" Seek ye the Lord, ere 'tis too late ! 
Think of the sinner's awful fate 

To hell's fierce flames compelled, 
Where seething fires for ever rise; 
A sight so dreadful, mortal eyes 

Have never yet beheld." 

" I've seen it, Parson," called aloud 
A voice from out the startled crowd, 

Who turned the man to see, 
All knew him well, 'twas Fireman Mose, 
The stalwart foreman of the hose 

That ran with Fountain Three. 

" 'Twas when the brick block went," he cried 
" The roof, with four men from my side, 

Fell in the flames below. 
A horrid pause, then, swelling higher, 
Up swept the surging sea of fire, — 

Hell nothing worse can show." 
64 



THE FIREMAN 



" And you," the preacher made reply, 
"Saw this, yet still your Lord deny 

And trifle with your fate? 
Torments seven fold, yea, seven times seven, 
Await the soul that seeks not heaven; 

Kneel ere you be too late! " 

Trembling, the awestruck fireman stood, 
Who ne'er before of man or God 

Had felt the touch of fear. 
Vanquished, he knelt beside the rest 
And humbly there his sins confessed 

Aloud, that all might hear. 

" I've led a wild, hard life," said he, 

" Set many a blaze, that Fountain Three 

Might first the flames oppose; 
At the big fire, when Tiger Four 
To wash our tub had pressed us sore, 

'Twas I who cut the hose. 
65 



THE FIREMAN 



" I've fought, and drunk, and gambled, too, 
And as for women, — well, I'm through 

With all such foolishness, 
I'll quit the force this very day, 
Pray Christ to wash my sins away 

And heal my soul's distress." 

Scarce had he knelt to raise in prayer 
His faltering voice, when, on the air, 

Sudden the fire-bells rang. 
With gong, loud clanging, past the door 
The hose swept by, — he could no more, 

But to the portal sprang, 

And, gazing up the street, could see 
His dear old engine, Fountain Three, 

Her slack ropes thinly lined, 
While, drawn by half the men in town, 
The Tiger Four came thundering down 

Not forty rods behind. 
66 



THE FIREMAN 



As now the panting crew toiled past, 
With ringing call of trumpet-blast, 

He heard his captain yell, 
"Quick, man the rope!" Above the noise 
His answer came, " Hang to her, boys, 

I'm with you, heaven or hell! " — 

That night, 'mid smouldering ruins sought, 
Two flame-charred bodies forth they brought 

' And laid them side by side. 
'Twas Fireman Mose, and one poor wight 
He died to rescue — at the sight 
Strong men broke down and cried. 

And as the preacher o'er them bent, 
A silent prayer to heaven he sent, 

Then sadly shook his head, 
" Not all our prayers," said he, " can plead 
So well for man as one good deed, 

When God doth judge His dead." 
6? 



CHICAGO, A. D. 1903. 

Footsore, haggard, starving, 
To the city's gate it came, 

Trailing its weakened body 
And famine-wasted frame 

From Europe's dank morasses 
And lairs of death and shame. 

" Feed me," it cried, " O Masters, 
I die with hunger's pain, 

My mate's dry breasts are shrivelled, 
Her starved cubs nurse in vain; 

Most faithful will I serve you, 
And ask but food again." 
68 



CHICAGO, A. D. I9O3 

Abject, servile, dumbly 

It toiled for the meed they paid, 
Accepted the humblest service, 

And never a murmur made, 
Till, waxing strong with plenty, 

It felt no more afraid. 

Swift then its claws unsheathing, 
It claimed a larger share, 

Made its own price for its labour 
And laid its sharp teeth bare, 

While its stealthy eyes, remorseless, 
Shone with a sullen glare. 

Bolder and ever bolder, 

In the city's mart it lay. 
Ordered that none should serve there 

Except as it might say, 
Or its ruthless jaws would strangle 

All who denied its sway. 
69 



CHICAGO, A. D. I9O3 

Arrogant, cruel, lawless, 
" Obey my will," it said, 
" Build naught, make naught, without me, 

You must come to me for bread, 
And, save you pay me tribute, 

You shall not bury your dead." 

Meekly the once proud city 

Obeys the foul behest. 
Freedom, struck down, lies prostrate, 

By deadly fear oppressed, 
While the beast gloats o'er her body 

With its blood-stained paw on her breast. 



70 



THE OLD GENERAL AT 
MUSTER. 

You wonder that this mimicry of war is aught to 
me, 

What I, an old campaigner, can find in this to see. 

How one who led his thinned brigade by death- 
swept field and wood, 

And in the bloody Wilderness the rebel host with- 
stood, 

Knowing what veteran soldiers are, can see aught 
to admire 

In these half-trained militiamen in holiday attire. 

Yes, 'tis a trifle ludicrous, at least to one of us, 
To see the new-fledged captains strut round 
with fret and fuss, 
7i 



THE OLD GENERAL AT MUSTER 

And hear the young lieutenants, scarce from their 

mothers' knee, 
Tell how " We do it different, now," as if I 

could not see. 
The brigade-general is more wise, at least he 

holds his tongue, 
Thinking, perhaps, what he would do, should 

war's alarm be rung. 

And yet, I well remember, when, with striplings 

such as these, 
We met Old Stonewall's veterans who strove our 

line to seize, 
Against their belching batteries stood, and not 

an inch would yield, 
Then with one wild and desperate charge swept 

them from off the field. 
For men are men, it matters not how few their 

years may be ; 



72 



THE OLD GENERAL AT MUSTER 

If the true steel be in the blade it is enough for 
me. 

Though in these peaceful days there now is little 

to recall 
The battle-field, where from our side we saw our 

comrades fall, 
The weary march through hostile woods, alive 

with hidden foes, 
The midnight guard, the fevered tent with all 

its nameless woes, 
And that dread picture, which will ne'er from 

memory's tablets fade, 
The starving prisoners, waiting death, within 

the black stockade. 

Yet there is something stirs within, as, at the 

quick command, 
I see the bayonets' gleaming ranks in ready order 

stand, 

73 



THE OLD GENERAL AT MUSTER 

Then, like some ancient battle-steed, my soul 
wheels into line 

As, at the stirring bugle-call, the flashing sabres 
shine. 

And still my heart will greet with joy the can- 
non's welcome roar, 

Till Death shall sound the taps, " lights out," 
and life's campaign is o'er. 



74 



MATING-TIME. 

It was a pleasant day in spring, 
The orchard was a-blossoming ; 
My window I had opened wide 
To catch the perfume-laden tide, 
And heard amid the hum of bees, 
A bird's song, wafted on the breeze, 
" Tu weet, tu wee, come love to me." 
The robin sang from the apple-tree. 

" In vain," I cried, " O foolish bird, 
My heart no more with love is stirred." 
But still he carolled loud and long, 
And forth I strolled to hear his song. 
When lo! beside the garden gate, 
Stood bashful Pat and blushing Kate. 
75 



M ATI N G - TI ME 



" 'Tis time to woo, I love but you," 
The robin sang with loud ado. 

Past me, adown the shaded street, 
A couple strolled with loitering feet. 
The youth, with soft and languid air, 
Smiled on the pert and giggling fair. 
I paused not, but with careless eye 
And smile superior, passed them by. 
Still from his tree, my bird sang free, 
" Oh come, my love, and live with me." 

Beneath the orchard branches gay 
Another youth and maiden stray, 
With true and tender love he pleads, 
And in her eyes her answer reads. 
Soft eyes! sweet lips! that seem to say, 
" To-morrow is our wedding-day." 
" Come, build our nest, here will I rest," 
The robin s mate her love confessed. 
76 



MATING-TIME 



Yes, it was here, this very spot — 
Ah, can it be that I forgot 
That look and those, her mother's eyes, 
Now veiled from me in Paradise? 
I turned, and on a withered tree, 
An empty nest confronted me, — 
Bird, I implore, your song give o'er, 
My heart can build again no more." 



77 



THE WATER-LILY. 

As in the city's dust and heat 

I walked with footsteps sad, 
I chanced to see, upon the street, 
Close to the throng of hurrying feet, 

A little country-lad. 

The freedom of the mountain air 

Shone from his sun-lit eye ; 
His slender hands held, fresh and fair, 
A bunch of water-lilies rare, 

To tempt the passer-by. 

'Twas but a glance, yet strangely sweet, 

Its spell my heart beguiled; 
I saw no more the crowded street, 
Heard not the tread of hurrying feet, 

I was again a child, 

78 



THE WATER-LILY 



Roaming the wild woods, glad and free, 

Haunting the mountain stream, 
I heard the birds' sweet melody, 
And through the screen of leaf and tree 
I caught the river's gleam. 

The dreamy nook where lilies grew 

I sought by pathways lone, 
And where the alder thicket threw 
Its tangled shade of dusky hue, 

The snow-white blossoms shone. 

And she, that o'er my heart bore rule, 

My sweetheart, scarcely ten, 
For whose dear sake I stole from school 
To pluck the lilies from the pool, 

I saw her once again, 

As when, upon her desk, my prize 
All sweetly fragrant lay, 
79 



THE WATER-LILY 



The blush that told her glad surprise, 
The love-lift of those tender eyes 
Is in my heart to-day. 

O Lily fair, with heart of gold! 

Where may thy presence be? 
Full many a weary year has rolled 
Since, on life's ocean dark and cold, 

I drifted far from thee — 

Perchance, with aging step and slow, 

A staid and sober dame, 
She walks this very street. Ah, no, 
My fond heart will not have it so, 

She is to me the same. 

And oft, when sleep unseals my eyes, 

With hand in hand again, 
We roam beneath unclouded skies 
And pluck the flowers of Paradise, 
A boy and girl of ten. 
80 



THE BAYBERRY LEAF. 

Again I stand beside the shore 

And hear the solemn chant 
Of waves that break for evermore 

Round thy wild rocks, Nahant. 

The white ships cleave their foamy track, 

The salt sea-breezes blow, 
And to my lonely heart bring back 

The days of long ago. 

Soft gray-winged gulls in airy flocks 

Wheel 'twixt the sea and sky, 
The sand-birds flitting 'mid the rocks 

Send up their plaintive cry. 
81 



THE BAYBERRY LEAF 

Watching the surge in sullen wrath 

Break o'er the whitening reef, 
Idly I pluck beside the path 

A bayberry's waxen leaf. 

When, with its fragrance sweet, a tide 

Of memories like the sea, 
Through Time's dark flood-gates bursting wide, 

Comes rushing back to me. 

Like this, the day was bright and fair, 

The same sweet breezes blew, 
The rocks, the very waves were there, 

The same deep sky of blue. 

And one dear form walked by my side 

Along this selfsame way, 
Who gave to me with maiden pride 

A leaflet of the bay. 

82 



THE BAYBERRY LEAF 



O happy leaf, than I more blest, 

O sweet leaves of the bay! 
Ye lay upon her pallid breast 

When she was borne away. 

The long years come, the long years go, 

But never more with me 
Her gentle footsteps, soft and slow, 

Will wander by the sea. 

And so, to-day, I walk apart 

And watch the sea alone, 
But, like these bruised leaves, my heart 

To sweeter life has grown, 

And, trusting, holds the fond belief 
That, mindful still of me, 
She plucks the bayberry's fadeless leaf 
Beside the Eternal Sea. 



83 



THE FACE ABOVE THE ROSE. 

A young man sits at the window, 
Before him a garden lies, 
Gay with resplendent flowers 
Tinged with a thousand dyes, 
But, heeding not the beauty 
Their radiant ranks disclose, 
He only sees a girlish face 
Bending above a rose. 

An old man sits by the window, 
And thinks of the vanished years; 
Like the wind-swept sands of the desert 
The path of his life appears, 
Save where, like a green oasis, 
His memory fondly shows 
84 



THE FACE ABOVE THE ROSE 

A quaint old garden filled with flowers, 
And a face above a rose. 

And oft he dreams by the window 

Of another life than this, 

Where he would win his heart's desire 

And heaven's eternal bliss 

Not with the wealth, and fame, and power 

His blinded manhood chose, 

Only a garden filled with flowers, 

And her face above the rose. 



85 



THE LAND OF MY DREAMS. 

In the days of my youth, ere the world's stern 

hand 
Had fettered my footsteps free, 
I dwelt in a wondrous and beautiful land, 
In a realm of enchantment, a faery strand, 

By the sunset-tinted sea. 

Oh, fair were its plains with their emerald sheen, 

And its mountain peaks, towering grand, 
And the calm, restful valleys that slumbered be- 
tween, 
Where the birds carolled sweetly 'mid bowers of 
green, 
In that dreamy and mystical land. 

All the bravest and noblest of earth were there, 
And sweet was their welcome to me, 
86 



THE LAND OF MY DREAMS 

As I roamed by the side of my love so fair, 
With her amorous tresses of sun-kissed hair, 
By the shores of the pulsing sea. 

But I turned from the beautiful land of my 

dreams, 
And my footprints were lost on its shore; 
The paths that once led by its valleys and 

streams, 
O'ergrown and untrodden, now strange to me 

seems, 
I shall tread their wild mazes no more. 

Yet oft, when the fire burns dimly and low, 

And I sit with my soul all alone, 
I can hear the far waters that murmuring flow 
And list to the songs that my heart used to 
know 
In the sweet summer-days that have flown. 
87 



THE LAND OF MY DREAMS 

When my life's sun shall set on death's desolate 
shore, 
And the dark waves reflect his last beams, 
I will bid the grim ferryman carry me o'er 
With my loved and my lost ones to dwell ever- 
more 
In the beautiful land of my dreams. 



88 



THE FISHERMAN'S DAUGH- 
TER. 

At the old stone wharf lay the Mary Jane, 
A brand-new craft, without spot or stain, 
And proudly her youthful skipper cried, 
" Cast off, my lads, with this breeze and tide 
We soon on the Georges' Banks will ride." 

Ere the swelling sails could fill away, 

Down the wharf limped a beldame, old and gray, 

" Hold," to the skipper she sternly said, 

" At home my daughter lies cold and dead, 

By your false tongue was she misled." 

His bronze cheek blanched 'neath her angry eye, 
But, forcing a smile, he made reply, 
89 



THE FISHERMAN S DAUGHTER 

" Your daughter was wild and bold and free, 
I sought her not, she followed me, 
On her alone the blame should be." 

" Dark was the path my daughter trod, 

Her erring soul is now with God, 

But what of the child?" With a frown, said 

he, 
" Her little brat is naught to me." 
And he loosed the sheet to the east wind free. 

Then, lifting her withered arms on high, 
She shrieked o'er the waters in fierce reply, 
" Accursed be yon vessel here, 
111 luck go with her, foul or fair, 
Woe and disaster everywhere!" 

As backward struck by a sudden flaw, 
The ship's sails slacken and fail to draw; 
Then slow she bends to her course, but see! 
90 



THE FISHERMAN S DAUGHTER 

Up into the wind why swingeth she, 

While her fluttering sails flap loose and free? 

Round the captain gather the awe-struck crew. 
They fear no storm that ever blew, 
Nor the fiercest wrath of sea or sky; 
But that dread curse and evil eye 
Not even the bravest dare defy. 

" Be off, ye cowards, every one! 

The wind holds fair ; with my sister's son 

I can yet work up to Boston town, 

And find me a crew who fear not the frown 

Of a foolish woman, lest they should drown." 

The sun set fair at close of day 
As his anchor dropped in Boston bay; 
But the boy to his sister's heart so dear 
Was swept from the deck to a watery bier, 
With the words of the curse in his drowning 
ear. 

9i 



THE FISHERMAN S DAUGHTER 

With a motley crew he put to sea, 

Negro, Kanaka, and Portugee', 

And long did they cruise, but small was the 

fare 
Brought home for the wearied crew to share. 
Misfortune followed them everywhere. 

But the skipper was young and stubborn and 

bold, 
And firm to her course did his vessel hold, 
Till, three years past, one Sabbath day, 
At the old wharf's side his schooner lay, 
And he watched the minnows about her play. 

When down the wharf tripped a little girl, 
Her fair locks tossing in many a curl ; 
And the captain called her, and gently said, 
As his rough, brown hand with her ringlets 

played, 
" Who is your father, my little maid ? " 
92 



THE FISHERMAN S DAUGHTER 

" My father's at sea, and mother is dead 
And I live with Granny," she shook her head, 
" She's the crossest thing you ever knew, 
And she whips me dreadful. Now who be you ? " 
And she gazed in his face with her eyes of blue. 

A certain something, the words she said, 
The airy toss of her wilful head — 
Her mother's voice and gesture free — 
Spoke to his heart. At length said he, 
"lam your father, come with me." 

Together they passed up the silent street, 
His long stride timed to her tripping feet, 
And the idlers, lounging in doorways brown, 
Gazed at the couple with silent frown, 
For well were they known in that little town. 

A lowly church they reached at last, 
And down the broad aisle slowly passed, 
93 



THE FISHERMAN S DAUGHTER 

By her little hand the child he led, 
And, kneeling down, with humbled head, 
" Pray for us both," he hoarsely said. 

" Pray for the child, that she may win 

In her coming struggle with pride and sin. 

And pray ye that I no more may run 

My course by sin's false chart, nor shun 

The father's duty I left undone." 

Out into the sunshine free they passed, 

And the women with tears the child held fast, 

While friends, long estranged, took his hand 

again, 
And the curse that was laid on the Mary Jane 
Pursued her no more o'er the stormy main. 



94 



THE ORIGIN OF THE VARIE- 
GATED ROSE. 

Down the garden path, where the pale moonlight 

Like the ghost of the day reposes, 
Why cometh my Lady of York to-night 

To her bower all white with roses? 
No red rose of Lancaster blossometh there 
Save one that her lover hath twined in her hair, 
In the joy of her presence he little doth care 
That a ruthless foe opposes. 

On a slumberous couch of fleecy cloud 

The moon in the west is dying, 
O'er her wan face drawing its mist-woven 
shroud 
While the night winds are mournfully sighing. 
95 



VARIEGATED ROSE 



The white pallid roses stand out in the gloom 
And fill all the air with their heavy perfume, 
Like the faint, stifled breath of a funeral room 
Where the silent dead are lying. 

They stand 'neath the bower and fondly he 
pleads 

That she grant of her love a token, 
In her cheeks' sweet confusion her answer he 
reads 

Ere yet the words she has spoken. 
She twines with the red rose a floweret white 
As a pledge that for ever, in war's despite, 
The white rose and red will together unite 

In ties that shall never be broken. 

The yew-trees nod softly, like mourners asleep, 
And the moonbeams are fainter waning; 

He sees not the shadows that stealthily creep, 
Near and yet nearer gaining. 

9 6 



VARIEGATED ROSE 



Ha! what is that flash in the glimmering light? 
'Tis the quick deadly thrust of a rapier bright, 
And he falls in death by the roses white, 
His life's blood their petals staining. 

And the lady died, so the story goes, 
Ere that doleful night had ended, 

But still to this day, in the fateful rose, 
The crimson and white are blended. 

And the dewdrops upon it at morn, 'tis said. 

Are the tears that her sorrowing eyes have shed, 

When, to wash from the blossoms the blood-stains 
red, 
Her spirit to earth has descended. 



97 



CARMENCITA. 

Slow rises the glittering curtain, 
Alhambra's white walls gleam afar, 

In dreamy notes, soft and uncertain, 
Faintly tinkles the lover's guitar. 

From the shadowy arches out-darting, 
Like a fawn springing forth on the plain, 

Or a sunburst when storm-clouds are parting, 
She comes, the bright daughter of Spain ! 

A vision of tropics and twilight, 
Lips ardent, yet languorous fair, 

And eyes like twin stars 'neath the midnight 
That sleeps in her beautiful hair. 
98 



CARMENCITA 



Poised a moment with tremulous quiver, 
Like an arrow full drawn on the string, 

Or a panther, by some Indian river, 
As it gathers itself for a spring. 

Then away through the dance's swift mazes, 
Each eye follows on with delight, 

As a child's that in wonderment gazes 
On the swift-darting swallows in flight. 

She moves like the breeze o'er the sedges 
Or the wave that the rivulet frets, 

Like the deer's startled hoofs on the ledges 
Sounds the click of her sharp castanets. 

A sweep of the sea-gull's soft pinions, 
A whirl, a swift pause in her flight, 

A smile, worth a sultan's dominions, 

A kiss of the hand and, — " Good-night." 



L.«fC 99 



A CLASSIC IDYL. 

As through New York by train we came, 

In tones quite oratorical, 
Our brakeman called each station's name, 

All classic or historical. 

Palmyra, Utica and Troy, 

With Memphis, Tyre and Macedon, 
Fair Ilion, free from war's annoy, 

Old Nineveh and Babylon. 

Through Athens' groves our train did pass, 
Where blooms the shy hepatica, 

To Syracuse, whose salt, alas, 
Is not the salt of Attica! 
ioo 






CLASSIC IDYL 



A little maid, more fair and bright 
Than fabled nymphs or goddesses, 

Came in just then and put to flight 
My Iliads and Odysseys. 

Her dark brown eyes with timid look 
Glanced up, my day-dreams banishing, 

Like troutlets in a shaded brook, 
One flashing gleam, then vanishing. 

" Where are you going, little maid ? " 
I asked, with much temerity. 

" From Carthage up to Rome," she said, 
With childlike sweet sincerity. 

" Another Hannibal afield ? 
O dark-eyed Carthaginian, 
This time the Roman youth must yield, 
And all the shores Lavinian." 



IOI 



CLASSIC IDYL 



Not shields of brass, nor triple mail, 
Moat-guarded towers and ravelins, 

Nor Fabian arts can aught avail 
Against those eyes' swift javelins! 

If I but were an errant knight, 
O maid, with eyes so glorious, 

For thee I'd brave the fiercest fight, 
O'er every foe victorious. 

Farewell, dear girl of rarest charm, 
And tender grace virginian, 

May angels keep thee safe from harm, 
My little Carthaginian. 



1 02 



MEMORIES. 

" Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit." 

Deserted now are the halls, where, as schoolmates, 
we daily assembled, 

Silent the tenantless rooms, once filled with the 
sound of our voices, 

Over the stairways, worn deep by the footsteps 
of two generations, 

Echo no more the feet that will pass there no 
longer for ever. 

Yet often in memory I sit and repeople the deso- 
late benches 

With visions and scenes of the past, and days that 
have long since departed. 
103 



MEMORIES 



Once more in fancy I hear the drone of the long 
recitation, 

" Arma virumque cano," O shade of long suf- 
fering Virgil! 

Homer's sonorous lines; the Ten-Thousand's 
"Thalatta! Thalatta! " 

Guttural German, narrating how Tell bade the 
tyrant defiance, 

Stammering accents in French, concerning the 
coat of my uncle, 

Sines and cosines and roots and words of un- 
known derivation. 

Then, best remembered of all, the day of the 

Class Graduation. 
Parents and friends are all there, each watching 

the face of some loved one, 
Committee-men, solemn and grave, and teachers, 

important, yet anxious. 



104 



MEMORIES 



Again I behold the proud youth, the rostrum 

slowly ascending, 
With voice 'twixt a squeak and a croak, pouring 

forth the high-flown declamation, 
" The Commons of France have resolved," or 

" The Union, now and for ever." 

Now a soft rustling I hear as the girls, decked 
with ribbons and laces, 

Fluttering forth like white doves, read faintly 
their sweet compositions, 

" A Vision," or " Shells of the Sea," or " What 
is the True Sphere of Woman ? " 

Seen through the vista of years, how clearly be- 
held is the picture, 

How fair shines each face even now, in memory's 
sight ever youthful, 

Though the sweet eyelids of some are lifted now 
only in heaven. 



105 



ME M O R I E S 



Ah, never more will the skies seem as bright as 

were those of our school-days ; 
Though the full noontide be fair, and beauteous 

the glories of sunset, 
Fairest of all is the glow that shines on the wings 

of the morning, 
Sweetest the memories that cling around the old 

High-school for ever. 



1 06 



NATURE'S LAW. 

Before my window, in the sun-flecked shade 
Of an old elm, with sudden, downward flight, 
A flock of English sparrows, naught afraid, 
Flutter to earth to quarrel, scold and fight. 

Ruthless invaders ! from their native bowers 
Spring's lovely bluebird and the oriole gay, 
With all the gentle, sweet-voiced friends of ours, 
They drive relentless to the wilds away. 

And if, perchance, some mother-bird alight, 
To build and rear her young where she was bred, 
The noisy crew suspend their household fight, 
And strike the poor, home-loving wanderer dead. 
107 



NATURE S LAW 



But who are we, that would of them complain ? 
Born of that ruthless and all-conquering race, 
Whose teeming loins and sturdier arms and 

brain 
Must from the earth all other tribes efface. 

Even as the wandering red-man's feebler bands 
Were by our cruel ancestors oppressed, 
By pious craft despoiled of all their lands, 
Then slain or banished to the far-off west. 

So goes the world ; thus ever by the strong 
The weak are dispossessed, they, in their course, 
To fall before the mightier, right or wrong, 
Nature cares not, her only law is force. 

Her rule is cruel, stern and merciless, 
" Conquer or die," there is no other way, 
The higher must supplant the low, if less 
The world were lost in ruin and decay. 

1 08 



NATURE S LAW 



Then fight, ye birds, 'tis the decree of Heaven, 
But unto us a message from above, 
To temper and assuage its woe, is given, 
A higher law, Christ's golden rule of love. 



109 



I MET A FRIEND. 

I saw a friend's face on the street, 

And, as toward me he came, 
I reached my hand out his to meet, 

And called him by his name, 
But he passed on and answered not, 

Nor turned aside his head, 
And then I knew I had forgot 

That he, my friend, was dead. 



no 



DOMESTIC AND OCCASIONAL 



in 



TO MY WIFE. 

As one who late has trod some cavern deep, 
Far-winding, voiceless, with no ray of light 
Save the faint torch that makes more dim the 
night 
Where the dead hours eternal silence keep, 
And, coming forth as from some fearful sleep, 
Sees the fair world burst on his raptured sight, 
Scents the warm earth and feels with new 
delight, 
Through Nature's frame the pulsing life-throbs 
leap — 

So I, who long have kept my lonely way, 
Cheered but by friendship's faint and pallid 
gleam, 

113 



TO MY WIFE 

Now come into the sunshine of thy life, 
The past but caverned night appears, and day, 
New dawning, fills my soul with joy supreme, 

Since I have called thee by the name of wife. 



114 



ALBUM VERSES. 

FREDERICK. 

May what thy father hoped to be 
Be realized, my son, in thee; 
With stronger body, keener brain, 
All that I miss may'st thou attain, 
So, though I die, there yet may be 
In thee, my immortality. 

THEODORE. 

Thy life, dear son, is like a spotless page 
On which thine own hand must its record 
trace. 

US 



ALBUM VERSES 



Then make that record clear, and ne'er engage 
In aught thou would'st not on its surface place. 

Let thy pride be a good name, fairly won, 
Mine, that I have in thee, a noble son. 

EUGENE. 

My little son, whose blue eyes shyly peep 

From out the shelter of my easy-chair, 
Into the covert of my heart you creep, 

And feel secure, if you can nestle there. 
In years to come, when I am old and worn, 

And the world's burdens can no longer bear, 
Shall I, the child, to you, the man, then turn 

And refuge find beneath your loving care? 



116 



TO MY CHILDREN. 

O sons of mine, few are the years, at best, 
That you abide within the parent nest; 
Soon, ah, too soon, as from some forest tree 
The winged seeds are blown, you part from me. 
May your lot fall where no misfortune's flood, 
Or passion's heat or sorrow's raven brood 
Mar your young growth; may every grace 

increase, 
Your days with joy be filled, and all your nights 

with peace. 

Could any thought or care of mine avail 
To keep you safe when life's fierce storms assail, 
117 



TO MY CHILDREN 



How gladly would I toil, all rest forego; 
Vain wish, true manhood is not nurtured so. 
As stands the sapling 'gainst the north-wind's 

blast, 
So must you strive, till, gathering strength at last, 
You tower aloft in native worth arrayed, 
And see your loved ones rest 'neath your protect- 
ing shade. 

And should it not be granted you to know 
The mountain heights where Fame's bright 

laurels grow, 
Yet there are lowlier summits, no less fair, 
That you may reach and build your watch- 
towers there. 
Aspire to something, use your gifts aright, 
Be not content with lives of mean delight. 
Of all a father's sorrows, spare me one, 
That saddest, bitterest grief, a base, degenerate 
son. 

118 



TO MY CHILDREN 

O hearts untried! may it be granted me 
Your little fleet to launch on manhood's sea. 
Youth's whelming surf, the treacherous undertow 
Of vice, safe passed, and the sharp reefs of woe, 
Then blow, ye winds of Heaven ! whate'er betide, 
No further may the hand of man provide. 
By unseen currents borne, and strange winds 

blown 
To shores, by all unknown, ye sail by faith alone. 



119 



IN THE NURSERY. 

When the night wears late and the household 
lie 

All hushed in slumbers deep, 
We turn, ere we rest, my wife and I, 

To the room where the children sleep. 

There are two little bodies curled up on the bed, 

And one in the crib below, 
And the sight of each innocent, slumbering head 

Is the fairest that earth can show. 

The mother bends o'er them, and lovingly tries 
To smooth out each little form straight, 

Then looks up to me with a light in her eyes 
That words were not made to translate. 
1 20 



IN THE NURSERY 



Oh, could we but know that to them future years 
Would ever bring slumbers as deep, 

With that sweet assurance to banish our fears, 
We, too, would as peacefully sleep. 



121 



ON THE BIRTH OF TWINS. 

'Neath the dark pines that shade its bed 
The twin-flower lifts its dainty head ; 
Two blossoms on one stem upborne, 
Tinged with the blushes of the morn, 
Blooming with fragrance rare, to bless 
The lone and dusky wilderness. 

'Neath your roof-tree, dear friends of mine, 
Two little nodding heads recline, 
Two human blossoms, sweeter far 
Than all the flowers of nature are, 
Together sent, companions dear, 
The clouded paths of life to cheer. 

Love's Philopena! favouring Heaven 
No kindlier boon to man has given. 



ON THE BIRTH OF TWINS 

Soon will their little prattling ways 
Brighten with joy life's weary days, 
And magic touch of childhood's hand 
Make of your home a fairy-land. 



123 



TWO PICTURES. 

A slender, childish form, that gently sways 
To the slow ambling of his pony's stride, 

With all a father's love I proudly gaze 
To see my little son so bravely ride, 

Nor turn mine eyes till down the avenue 

His graceful figure fades from out my view. 

Another picture rises on my sight, — 
A charging cavalier on battle plain, 

Borne headlong to the war-cloud's thickest night, 
Where the red batteries belch their deadly rain. 

And now I see him in his saddle reel, 

While his lax hand lets fall the useless steel. 

Gone is the vision, terrible and grim, 
Will its dread horror ever come to him? 
124 



TO M. A. B. 

Dear friend, so long the prisoner of pain, 
Denied the world's large freedom, light and 

bloom, 
Chained to thy bedside and the narrow room, 

While summers came, to fade and come again 

For twice ten weary years. But yet no stain 
Of sadness rests upon thee, nor of gloom, 
Thou sweet, wan rose, still giving forth per- 
fume, 

With cheerful heart, too noble to complain. 

Though thou dost live secluded evermore, 
Think not thou art forgotten: many a heart 
125 



TO M. A. B. 

Doth call to mind, amid life's trials sore, 

Thy gentle patience; and such thoughts im- 
part 

New courage, and with strength our souls restore, 
Till, all ashamed, our lesser griefs depart. 



126 



TO MY FATHER'S MEMORY. 

He comes no more, — 

In homeward ways or on the crowded street, 
We never more his welcome step shall greet, 
And o'er the threshold of the opening door, 
He comes no more. 

He is not there, — 
When, half-forgetful of our bitter pain, 
To seek his sweet, approving smile again, 
We turn us toward the old familiar chair, 
He is not there. 

He answers not, — 

When doth arise some thought or feeling rare, 

127 



TO MY FATHER S MEMORY 

Our hearts would fondly wish that his might 

share, 
We speak the name our lips have ne'er forgot, 
He answers not. 

He is not dead, — 

Our love will hold his image cherished long, 
And many a heart shall thrill beneath his song, 
Where'er his earnest, lofty thoughts are said, 
He is not dead. 

He showed the way, — 

When the dull crowd 'mid Superstition's night, 

Plunged blindly on, he called, " This way is 

Light." 
On Truth's fair heights they yet will stand and 

say, 

" He showed the way." 



128 



TO MY FATHER S MEMORY 

There may I go, — 

Where'er in realms unknown his spirit strays, 
My soul doth long to pass the eternal days ; 
Whatever way his onward footsteps know, 
There may I go. 



129 



A TRIBUTE TO THE MEM 
ORY OF MASTER KING. 

{Read at a reunion of his former pupils.) 

Friends of the olden time, 

Once schoolmates all, 
Unworthy is the rhyme 

My lips let fall; 
No words can fitly limn, 
What time has failed to dim, 
The memory of him, 

Our hearts recall. 

The summer breezes blow, 

The flowerets wave 
In benediction low, 

Above his grave; 
130 



TRIBUTE TO MASTER KING 

Yet still his spirit bright 
Is with us here to-night, 
And grateful hearts requite 
The love he gave. 

When we our youth review, 

He comes again, 
The master, kind and true, 

Who taught us then; 
The long years fade away, 
Again we own his sway, 
Though we who meet to-day 

Are gray-haired men. 

Why this unchanging trust, 

These ready tears, 
For one who has been dust 

For thirty years? 
His was the magic art, 
Instruction to impart 
131 



TRIBUTE TO MASTER KING 

With love that won the heart, 
And still endears. 

What majesty he lent 

To that bare hall! 
No priest at sacrament 

Felt loftier call; 
A king in name and deed, 
He knew nor caste nor creed, 
But gave an equal meed 

Alike to all. 

What though foul slander's breath 

And hatred strong, 
Pursued him to his death, 

Nor waited long; 
We, who his nature knew, 
Fearless, upright and true, 
Here give him justice due, 

And right his wrong. 
132 



TRIBUTE TO MASTER KING 

How many griefs have passed 

That, since he died, 
Time has o'erwhelmed at last, 

In Lethe's tide; 
But neither time nor space 
Has dimmed his radiant face, 
What memory cannot trace, 

Love has supplied. 

Dear shade, if thou may'st still 

Be hovering near, 
As we our glasses fill, 

Hear us, oh, hear! 
This pledge we drink to thee, 
That evermore shall we 
Thy cherished memory 

Love and revere. 



133 



AT THE PALMER HOUSE, 
CHICAGO. 

(In response to a challenge to write upon the 
opening scene.) 

" Clam stew for one," — and speedily aloft 

The grinning Ethiop, o'er his bullet head, 

Brings in the wished-for dish. — 

What savoury steam salutes my nostrils keen, 

The salty odour of the far-off sea! 

To me it doth recall my boyhood's home, 

The wave-washed rocks, with slippery seaweed 

decked, 
The level sands, wet-gleaming in the sun, 
The tide, low-lapsing from the wave-worn beach ; 
And, far beyond, the gleam of snow-white sails, 
134 



AT THE PALMER HOUSE 

Like angel's wings for some far journey spread, 
And all the glow and glamour of the sea. 

As from some witch's caldron faintly rise 
The vapours dim, and in their misty veil 
Full many a scene of humble life I view. 
Not like to those in which its cousin proud, 
The soft, voluptuous oyster, oft is found, 
The rich abodes of luxury and ease, 
Where the bejewelled guests recline in state, 
With pampered appetites that loathe their food; 
Or where, in filthy barrooms, smelling foul, 
The beer-soaked ruffian treats his comrades vile, 
Bull-necked and brutish, and doth shame the 

night, 
With oath profane, and ribald jest obscene. 

For thou, O clam, art all for wholesome use, 
Serving the poor man's need, and eking out 
His meagre living; often have I seen 
i35 



AT THE PALMER HOUSE 

The sad-eyed widow, clothed in rusty black, 
Her scanty wages, earned by ceaseless toil, 
Exchange for thee, since thou art cheaply bought, 
To feed her orphaned brood. She bears thee 

home, 
And serves their frugal meal, partaking naught 
Till the full measure of their need is filled ; 
Then, wrapping round her thin and wasted form 
Her threadbare shawl, she lays her down to rest, 
And smiles to think her little ones are fed. 

Such food as this the hardy seamen love, 
After their stormy vigils on the deep. 
I see them now, a bronzed, wind-beaten crew, 
Thick-set and stalwart-built, with brawny arms 
And hairy bosoms open to the sea. 
Of such as these the daring Genoese, 
Who brought strange terrors to the Carib shores ; 
Or the piratic Norsemen, cruising round 
The Vineyard coast, of plunder in pursuit, 
136 



AT THE PALMER HOUSE 

Wild, fierce, ungovernable, as their northern seas. 
For they, who by the ocean dwell, do grow 
Into a certain likeness to her; free, 
Far-wandering, full of ever restless life 
And longings, all unknown to inland men. 

In boyhood years I felt the keen desire 
To wander all her shores and borders o'er. 
Oh, halcyon days ! when, fired by bright romance, 
I roamed in dreams of wild adventure free 
Among the far Pacific's palm-fringed isles, 
Chased Buccaneers along the Spanish Main, 
Or shared lone Crusoe's solitary isle. 
Oft in the sultry summer-time, I sought 
The grove of stunted pines that stubborn grew 
Far out upon the breezy headland's verge, 
And there, reclining on the golden sands, 
Beneath the wind-worn pines, would gaze afar 
To where the dim horizon met the sea, 



i37 



AT THE PALMER HOUSE 

And build fair visions on those unknown shores, 
My feet would tread in future manhood's years. 

Ah, me! no more, not ever, any more, 
Will come to me again those visions bright; 
The future now is no unbounded sea, 
But hemmed with rocks and shoals of circum- 
stance, 
Through which I thread, with care and soundings 

oft, 
The narrowing channel of my destiny. 
Then, with youth's rising tide, 'neath radiant 

skies, 
The hours passed quickly, free from anxious 

care, 
But now the waters ebb, and o'er the sands 
The sombre crows fly, seeking for their prey; 
So, round me now, dark-hovering, near or far, 
I hear the rustling of the wings of Death. 



138 



THE PARADE. 

" Oh, father ! I can hear the band, 
Look, there the soldiers come!" — 

I saw a gallant troop march past 
To sound of trump and drum. 

A bannered host, with tossing plumes, 
And drawn swords gleaming bright, 

In broad platoons swept down the street. 
It was a goodly sight. 

" Father, who are those handsome men 
That march so grand to see?" 

" They are the Templar Knights, my son, 
A noble company." 

139 



THE PARADE 



"What is a knight? Oh, father, say, 
What have they ever done?" 

" They are the Soldiers of the Lord, 
And years ago, my son, 

" They fought the wicked Saracens, 
His sepulchre to gain. 
Their bleaching bones by thousands lie 
On Syria's desert plain." 

" And would these knights a-fighting go, 

Just as the others went?" 
" Alas, my child, I fear me, no, 

They are too corpulent." 

" Oh, see the one that goes ahead, 
With steps so grand and free, 

And shows the band just how to play, 
That must their captain be ? " 
140 



THE PARADE 



" My son, 'tis not the ablest man 

That makes the most display, 
The one that walks so pompously 

Is hired by the day." 

" Oh, see, what pretty hats and plumes, 

Big gloves and sashes! Say, 
I think that when they go to war 

They'd find them in the way." 

" Such things you cannot understand, 

They're full of mystery. 
These knights die not in battle now, 

But live for charity." 

"If they don't fight, I can't see why 

They dress up so, do you? 
And march about with swords and things, 

As truly soldiers do?" 
141 



THE PARADE 



" My son, there was a learned man, 
Charles Darwin was his name, 

Who held that all the human race 
From apes or monkeys came, 

" And all these tricks of dress and show, 

According to his plan, 
Are only the surviving traits 

Of the monkey left in man." 



142 



ON THE SEVENTY-FIFTH 
ANNIVERSARY OF 
THE LYNN LIGHT 
INFANTRY. 

Great are the men of mighty thought, 

Their triumphs never cease; 
Godlike are they who, just alway, 

Walk in the paths of peace. 
But when the hour of danger comes, 

Goodness saves not from harm, 
The subtle brain is all in vain, 

We need the strong right arm. 

When, five and seventy years ago, 

Columbia, young and brave, 
Dared Britain's might, in desperate fight, 

Her sailor sons to save, 
143 



THE LYNN LIGHT INFANTRY 

When down our coast the Shannon's guns 
Victorious swept the strand, 

From hill to sea, Our Company- 
Sprang forth to guard the land. 

Till, foiled on land and sea, the foe 

Withdrew his fierce array; 
Then, every year, they mustered here 

As we do now to-day. 
And when the weaknesses of age 

Forbade them more to go, 
Each took his gun and showed his son 

The way to meet the foe. 

Now, o'er the land, long years of peace 

Passed like a happy dream, 
As though no more, by sea or shore, 

Would war's red ensign gleam; 
But still our little band maintained, 

Through scorn, neglect, and wrong, 
144 



THE LYNN LIGHT INFANTRY 

With clearer sight, 'gainst all despite, 
Their martial spirit strong. 

Up from the Southland, sudden war 

Swept like a forest fire, 
In mortal strife the nation's life 

Seemed fated to expire; 
Then to her sons the Motherland 

For help and succour cried. 
Our heroes heard, and, at the word, 

Swift hastened to her side. 

Though few their ranks, they fearless faced 

The swelling tide of hate; 
Safe, 'gainst the world round her they furled 

The standards of our State. 
From the opposing heights, the foe 

Beheld their gathering might; 
Balked of his prey, he turned away, 

Nor dared to tempt the fight. 
US 



THE LYNN LIGHT INFANTRY 

Lone Carolina's forest pines 

Beheld our little band, 
Their footsteps trod the blood-stained sod 

Of proud Virginia's land; 
Fair Maryland's invaded fields 

To guard they swiftly flew, 
Sullen and slow, the baffled foe, 

In forced retreat withdrew. 

Needless the task, of all their deeds 

The story to pursue; 
Wherever sent, they fearless went, 

To flag and country true. 
Nor yet the men that foremost stood 

Behoves it us to name, 
Where each one, brave, his utmost gave, 

None may precedence claim. 

Who may attempt to measure forth 
Their service to the State? 
146 



THE LYNN LIGHT INFANTRY 

A handful cast in the balance vast 

That weighed a nation's fate! 
Perchance to turn the trembling beam, 

As wavering it stood, — 
We only know to them we owe 

Our utmost gratitude. 

Oh, justly may our native land 

Point to her sons with pride, 
Thronging her mills, tilling her hills, 

Sailing the ocean wide. 
But dearest to her heart are those, 

Who, in the battle's fray, 
Dared the red grave, her life to save, 

Her yeoman soldiery. 

Trusting in them, our State beloved 

Shall perfect safety win, 
And put to rout foes from without, 

Or fiercer foes within. 

147 



THE LYNN LIGHT INFANTRY 

Heeding the motto on her shield, 1 

May she, till wars shall cease, 
True to her word, win by the sword 

Freedom and tranquil peace. 

1 " Ens e petit placidam sub libertate quietem" 



148 



LOVE'S MAELSTROM. 

"Again? young friend, why, I declare, 
Twice have you passed this way, 

Why do you walk around the square 
So many times to-day? 

" Think you I know not why you roam ? 

At ten o'clock last night, 
You saw my neighbour's daughter home, 

Beneath the soft moonlight. 

" Beware, young man, of love beware; 

There lies in beauty's eye, 
For youthful hearts full many a snare, 

Heed my advice, Good-bye." 
149 



LOVE S MAELSTROM 



There is a whirlpool in the north, 
Where Norway's storm-clouds lower, 

From whose embrace no ship sails forth 
When once within its power; 

Moving, at first, in circles wide, 
Then near and nearer drawn, 

Till soon within the whelming tide 
It plunges, and is gone! 

And such is love, at least with men, 
They venture and are drowned, — 

Ah, here my young friend comes again, 
A third time circling round! 



150 



ODE ON THE DEDICATION 

OF THE LYNN HIGH- 

SCHOOLHOUSE. 



As when the happy bridegroom waits 

His coming bride, 
Whose presence, promised long, the Fates 

Till then denied, 

And, standing by her side, 
Hears her sweet voice repeat the vow 

That makes them one, — 
So we, at last beholding now 

This great work done, 

Give praise and thanks for all the waiting years 
have won. 



DEDICATION ODE 



Never so fair to our eyes 

Will temple or palace seem, 
Fortress towers that rise, 

By the Rhine's enchanted stream, 
Alhambra's vaulted walls, 

Mosque of Arab and Moor, 
Or where the sun of the Orient falls 

On the white pagoda's floor. 
Castles in dreamy Spain, 

Gardens of far Cathay, 
Pillared temple and classic fane, 

By the blue Corinthian bay, 
Will never to the heart 
Such thrilling joy impart 

As this majestic pile we dedicate to-day. 

For not in guilt were its foundations laid, 

Stern war stood not as sponsor at its birth, 

No priest of falsehood in its cloistered shade 
Linked hands with power to oppress the earth ; 
152 



DE DIC ATI ON ODE 



Not built with blood and tears, 

And the forced toil of years, 

But the free people's freest gift, 
In bounteous love bestowed to lift 

The race to loftier heights than those they trod. 

We praise, but their reward is in their hearts — 
and God. 



II. 



How blest are they whose happy fate 

Is here to find 
Communion with the wise and great 

Of all mankind; 
Life's loftiest paths to tread with those 

Who wisdom sought, 
Great souls who 'mid the ages rose 

The kings of thought. 



153 



DEDICATION ODE 



How sweet, through knowledge to attain 
Entrance upon a higher plane, 

A broader mental growth to make, 

Another upward step to take 
On the bright ladder that the patriarch trod, 
By which man rises upward from the clod, 
Nearer to God. 

Toilers by sea and shore 
Vanish and are no more; 

The preacher's burning words, 

Songs, like song of birds, 
Live but a day. 

The orator's clarion tones 

Shaking the tottering thrones, 
Soon fade away; 
The conqueror's iron sway 
No fame assures, 

They pass, but still, through all, the written 
word endures. 

154 



DE D I C ATIO N ODE 



Then seek fair Learning's shrine 

In youth's bright spring, 
She offers joys divine 

Naught else can bring; 
Delight for childhood hours 

And counsel sage, 
For manhood, larger powers, 

Solace for age. 
And when life's sweet desires 

With years depart, 
And grief's inburning fires 

Leave bare the heart, 
Though all friends else forsake, 

She will abide, 
And life a blessing make, 

Whate'er betide; 

To those who wisely seek, her peace is ne'er 
denied. 



155 



DEDICATION ODE 



III. 

Bid now the past farewell; 

Adieu, ye ancient halls, 
And memories sweet that dwell 

Within your cherished walls. 
What well-loved forms arise 

From the unforgotten past, 
Schoolmates, and friends we prize, 

With those whose lot is cast 
In the shadowy realms of death ; 

Round us they throng and press; 
They draw the vital breath — 

Thus, after death's recess, 
Teachers, classmates, and all 
Will meet at the Master's call. 

Will ever visions such as these 

Haunt these lofty galleries? 
Will the new become as the old, 

156 



DEDICATION ODE 



Laden with memories manifold? 
Will other hearts these halls in such sweet rever- 
ence hold? 

Yes, for the human mind, 

Broadening, is still the same, 
Though farther realms they find, 

'Tis by the path we came; 
The way we trod, they tread, 
The books they search, we read, 

And even the thoughts they claim 
We, too, have said. 
The lofty aim, the fond desire 
That now their youthful hearts inspire, 

Were ours and will be theirs 

Whom Heaven prepares, 
Alike as waves upon the ocean's beach, 
Save that each rising tide, a higher mark will 
reach. 

157 



DEDICATION ODE 



Now, through these portals wide 

Will ceaseless pour 
The living, human tide 

For evermore. 
With eyes that pierce the future dim, 

I see the long procession come, 
Maidens whose gentle hands will trim 
The lamp of love in many a home, 
Youths, bold and free, 

With hearts elate, 
Makers of destiny, 
Builders of fate, 
And rulers of the world that is to be. 
Room for the victors, room! 
Make way for those to whom 
The past is but the prelude of the play. 

So when unto the tomb 
We pass away, 

A grander world shall rise than all we now 
survey. 

158 



MY SHIR 

" Build me a ship, a gallant boat," 

My soul did ask of me, 
" My freight of ripened grain to float 
To distant lands and times remote 

Across Oblivion's sea." 

I built my boat with toil and care, 

And she was fair to see; 
Her towering topmasts cut the air, 
In many a port her pennon fair 

Flew on the breezes free. 

And many praised the ship I wrought, 
And watched her white sails gleam ; 
But yet, for all my care and thought, 
My soul was sad, for it was not 
The vessel of her dream, 
159 



JUL 



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